This was the reason I was sent to Gyumri, Armenia. To teach English at the Lord Byron school. It was a gift from the British government after the earthquake. Turns out that Byron helped to create the first English-Armenian dictionary. There was a statue of him outside the main building. My students had less of an idea of who Byron was, though. One day a boy, Aram, told me “please, next time you see Mr. Byron, tell him he is a very nice man.” I smiled and told him that I certainly would.

I.
Just the merest flutter of temptation
would make a courtesan or a scholar
or a saint wanton, shameless. Lord Byron
knew this. In his Manfred the dead sister
is a symbol of impossible lust.

II.
The mist on the mountain and on the moon
hint at pathways few dare to take. Disgust
is just regret turned in on itself. Soon
the fog of lustfulness, the tempest’s scar,
the night’s charioteer, will come for you.

III.
If you love me, give in, though I am far
away, give in to what we both would do.
You, who are neither nun nor sorceress,
be my sister, my taboo, my lewdness.